I Have Got Your Number
by Eos Blaze 0402
Summary: Can two people share a phone and survive without disasters when the mentioned two people are as different as Elena Gilbert and Damon Salvatore. Follow her as she races against the time to find her engagement ring before her wedding with Matt. So where does Damon's phone come in play? And the ringtone, 'I am a single lady', Is her would be husband gay? What the fuck is going on?


**This fic is loosely based on the Sophie Kinsella's novel. It's my first attempt at writing Delena and Elena might be a little OOC in this one. So give it try and let me know what you think.**

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**I HAVE GOT YOUR NUMBER**

Chapter One

You don't have to play these waiting games.  
You don't have to be afraid of me.

You've got my cell phone number,  
But you haven't called  
You've got it for a reason  
So, if you're teasing me,  
Make that call.

-Cell Phone by Plain White T.

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It's a universally acknowledged fact that an engaged woman must not lose her engagement ring, especially if the ring happens to be in her fiancé's family for three generations and is a beautiful cut sapphire surrounded with diamonds.

Then how the hell did I manage to lose it before two weeks of my upcoming marriage? My life is fucked up, totally fucked up right now. What am I gonna tell Matt?

How the hell this could have happened? It's not that I am a careless person, just a bit distracted at some times; well okay much more like distracted all the time when I get a story idea. But I have been careful with this ring. I have dutifully worn it from past three weeks, taking it off carefully in nights and leaving it in the special china tray on my bedside, feeling it up every ten seconds when I am in public. How could I lose it on the very same day when his mother is coming down for dinner with her boyfriend? Where could it go?

Well much like anywhere. I am currently in the ball room of the hotel, on my hands and knees (don't conjure up kinky scenes) checking beneath every chair, table, in the champagne glasses for that ring. How could you do this Elena? How dare you lose your engagement ring? Come on brain, remember. Remember the last time you saw the ring. On Bonnie's finger? April's? Meredith's? Katherine's? Rebekah's? Well till the time it was on Caroline's finger everything had become a blur. But remember brain, you have to. How else am I gonna face professor Kelly 'the barracuda' Donovan and her equally terrifying boyfriend Michael?

But I am dubious regarding remembering capacities of my brain. You see by the time girls demanded to try my ring, I had questionable glasses of champagne, pina colada and mojito. My fairly impressive gray cells were all sloshed and singing 'Call me maybe' while planning my honey moon. It had been Caroline's idea to come to this place. She had missed my bachelorette spa weekend. Now I am cursing myself for coming here. I will admit that I was basking in my admiration. You see things like these don't happen to me. I am fairly average Elena Gilbert from Mystic Falls, Virginia and I write romantic books for living. It's not that I amn't proud of what I do, it's just that it isn't as impressive as Matthew Donovan- Symbological history of Aborigines.

What will I tell Matt? My fiancé Matthew Donovan is a celebrated expert in the field of symbolism. He has been on TV and has written a book, which I started to read prior our second date but couldn't finish. It isn't that I don't read informative books, in this case my brain refused to co operate me and I went to sleep within first ten pages. Still he has written a book on Symbology. That's kinda big deal, isn't it? I guess so.

Why the hell did I get side tracked again? Ah yes I was telling you about Matthew Donovan. You see he doesn't look like an academic. He is a tall buff guy, around six feet with fair skin, blinding teeth and warm brown eyes. He is a jean, t-shirt, leather jacket kinda guy. No stuffy shirts for him. In his free time he likes to work in a bar. See, I told you not a bit like academic.

We met in a bar. Okay I know it doesn't sound romantic at all but that's the truth. He had been working behind the counter mixing drinks and I had been ditched by my boyfriend of two whole months who had developed some pretty nasty tendencies if I say so myself. We got talking and he asked me on date. And the rest is history. History, that's what I will be if I don't get this ring.

I have given my number to every cleaning lady, waitress and staff member. And I am praying to every deity real or imagined I know of, for a miracle. But I have to accept it, this is reality not one of my books, here miracles never happen but disasters do. (Matt's mother has written a whole book on the how miracles are just superstitions and the effects they have on our society.)

They have started cleaning. The maids are collecting the champagne flutes, one even has vacuum cleaner. What if my ring gets sucked in that monstrosity of metal? I never noticed vacuum cleaners before but right now I hate them with passion.

"Excuse me; did you search under those chairs?" I ask a lady standing near the door. I can see her exasperation but I have to get that ring.

Numerous possibilities dance around in my head. What if it fell in someone's bag, or got caught in thread of someone's jumper or went down in front of someone's bodice. What? It can happen. The list is endless and growing by an alarming rate. The cleaning crew shoos me out from the ball room with promises that they would call or message me when they find something. I see the concierge steeling himself for my repetitive question. I want to kill him. When I suggested that he rope off the ballroom and conduct an extensive search he gave me this glance and then he says in his salesman voice, "Are you sure you had the ring in the first place madam?" and then he had gall to suggest me I call the cops and report the missing ring. Okay so maybe that was a decent suggestion. I thought the cops would come in their cars, sirens blaring, ready to seal the hotel and search for my ring but all the guy on phone said was to come down to station and file a report.

My phone buzzes in my hand; it's a text from Bonnie.

**Did you find it yet?**

I stare at my phone willing it to buzz with correct text message or call that will tell me where my ring is? Come on phone you can do it for Elena; I will treat you with new Greys anatomy case, one that features Derek.

And it rings. This is it people. The call that will save me from future misery. In my excitement I can't seem to find the button. Any how I take the call. Its Caroline…..

"Hey Elena, Katherine said she saw the ring…."

Hello Caroline, the voice is not clear. This is a five star hotel for god's sake and I amn't getting a signal. I rush outside.

She has disconnected the call. She will call again; she knows how important this is for me.

I hold my phone willing it to ring again. It takes me a moment to realize what has happened even when my throat makes a shrieking sound and my fingers tingle with pain.

I have been mugged. I see a guy in a black hoodie cycling away furiously. The god damn thief took my phone. He took my bloody phone. I know what you people must be thinking. It's not nuclear explosion or a freaking life and death situation. It's just a phone. Its tiny metal thingy that brings me my call and my messages. It's not just a phone, it's my lifeline. How can I live without a phone? Can you?

A doorman rushes towards me. I think he saw the guy cycling away and me shouting like a fish wife.

"Madam, are you okay?" he sounds concerned but I think maybe that's his job? Placating shrieking females who are stupid enough to hold out their phones like candies.

"He took my phone."

He sympathizes and offers to call the police. But I know what will happen, the guy on the line will tell you to come to station and file a complaint.

How dare he take my phone? I am furious. Not because it was new or expensive or something like that. It was fairly old and well used phone. Best of luck to mister mugger if he wants to text or connect to internet. I am angry at the loss of my source of information regarding my ring. What if he throws the sim in some ditch? I want to call him just to return my sim but when I suggest this to the doorman, he eyes me as if I have gone crazy. What will I do now? Everyone has that number, from my friends to cleaning crew and staff of this hotel. Should I give them number of my apartment? No, Matt will listen the messages. What am I gonna do? I start pacing in the lobby. To and fro, past the potted plants of fern and hibiscus, past the bin, past the desk with news papers. To and fro. To and fro. My eyes dart from object to object, my shoulders bowed with the weight of missing family ring. Matt had to retrieve it from special bank vault before proposing. What will his mother say now? Secretly I know Mrs. Donovan hates me. She thinks I am unworthy of his prodigy son. Did I mention I am equally terrified of her? Then there is her boyfriend Michael with his very intelligent views on everything but particularly commercialism. Sometimes I have to choose who terrifies me most.

To and fro. To and fro I pace, trying to think up a solution for this mess I have gotten myself in. Wait what's there? No, not on desk, not in the pot of fern, in the bin. Something black and shiny, something having many tiny little keys. Something with a screen.

It's a phone. It's a bloody phone in the trash bin. A brand new Blackberry by the looks of it. I fish it out and the ID card which is wrapped around it. It shows a mug shot of a blonde who can be considered beautiful if you are into severe cheekbones and malnourished beauty.

I switch it on, the screen lights up.

Its working…..

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**What happens next? To know that don't miss the next update of "I have got your number". And guys please review.**

**1Review = one kiss by Damon.**

**-Eos**


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